Biography of Quel Saige
Quel Saige is a pseudonym, if ever there was one. It is the feeling you get when you remember something (someone?) long forgotten. It is the pang of regret for a comma or comment misplaced. It is the vu of presque vu and the death of all not yet living. He hopes you read with an open mind and an open heart and that wisdom would rule in your life, even when nothing else makes sense.
He also loves science, music, and philosophy, and probably finds you objectionable and lovable at the same time. Saige is not sage, but he hopes for you to be and thanks you for reading.
Quel Saige Poems
A Little Ruby-Throated Bird
A little ruby-throated bird Landed there without a word Upon the roof, the bird alighted Looking regally beknighted
As I Kneel
As I kneel, A ghost of a smile Passes over my lips. Ironies too cruel to admit.
Why, when looking to Him, Do we look up and not back? Why, when we cannot be bothered to look,
These Cherry Blossoms Drifting Everywher...
These cherry blossoms drifting everywhere, My senses overwhelmed but not yet gone. This fog, it clouds my vision here and there, I wonder just how far from here to yon
Strive for unformed imagery and words that don't do quite what is expected of them
Just An Old Tragedy
Yellowing book with tearstained pages 'Twas either a novel or a love for the ages.
L'ennemi De mon ennemi Est quelquefois Mon ennemi.
L'ami De mon ami Est quelquefois Mon ennemi.
Maybe when we can define Exactly what a not-weed is We will all learn to love to hate Our unforgettable, inescapable,
Letter From A Phantom
There is safety in numbers— Will all the members Of the Assembly Please stand?
it's a very dangerous place to be when all you can hear is the sound of your own voice
One Feared That He Mightn'T Find A Victi...
She awakens in the night He slyly slips through an unlocked window She turns to her infant's sibilant slumbering, wondering where the world will take them
The Funeral Procession
How long will the Illusion be surkept? For naught, we all have wept For naught, and also all the things that be— To live is to survive Eternity
Je vais et je dois en rêver D'une vie plus fantastique D'une vie plus simple
it's a very dangerous place to be
when all you can hear is the sound
of your own voice
and the violin drones in the background
playing mute to the tune
of your own blank canvas
and the box of the sound of you